my revenge is but a tool to carve out your eulogy
by TheMadKatter13
Summary: An angel is murdered in Soho, but it's Heaven that burns. [dagger.emoji][snake.emoji] A fix-it fic for halcyon1796's SPN AU / MCD fanart. CU
1. Obliteration

**TITLE: my revenge is but a tool to carve out your eulogy**

**SUMMARY: An angel is murdered in Soho, but it's Heaven that burns.**

**🗡️🐍**

**A fix-it fic for halcyon1796's SPN AU / MCD fanart (themadkatter13fanfiction tumblr, post/187747070828).**

**AO3 TAGS: Canon Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, POV Crowley (Good Omens), POV Adam Young (Good Omens), Murder, Character Death, Angst, POV Quartermaster Angel (Good Omens), Demon True Forms, Revenge, Blood and Violence, POV Michael (Good Omens), POV Adam Young, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Temporary Character Death, First Kiss, Surprise Kissing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Kissing, shy Aziraphale, implied PTSD, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death Fix, does that apply when the death is from a fanart, Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, only in regards to how angels work, only regarding the angels, Inspired by Art, I think I got all the tags**

**AN: I wanted to post this on the full moon Friday the 13th but, of course, since I had an arbitrary deadline, I missed it entirely. I was also going to give this a normal, non-FOB-title title, but all the standard-sized ones refused to fit.**

**Muses are both a blessing and a curse because, despite my best intentions, my simple viewing of halcyon1796's gorgeous art turned into fic. 🍎🍵 ~**

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CHAPTER ONE - Obliteration of the Soul, Obliteration of the Heart

Even as Crowley pulled up to the kerb, he knew something was wrong. Aziraphale's bookshop had a life of its own, like the Bentley did, and it had never felt… 'dead'. Not even when it Aziraphale had first moved in - it had just smelled of _potential_ not… not _death_. He wasn't even sure he was the one to put the car into park before he was stepping into the street, and the front door slammed open when he set foot on the first step.

"Aziraphale!" he shouted, a strange, unwelcome and unfamiliar sense of panic crawling up his throat. "Azir-!" He turned the corner and felt his words die in his throat.

There was a gate ward on the floor, still lingering the faint scent of Heaven, but it wasn't as important as the figure splayed half inside of it. The figure backed by shadowy wings like soot, burned into the floor, up the walls and onto the ceiling. A figure dressed in pale beiges and blues, stained with a deep red and sparkling with pale gold around the silver angel blade stuck through his chest.

"Aziraphale?"

Crowley staggered forward on numb feet, clawing his sunglasses from his face with nails that tore and stung. The cuts healed instantly, but there was a hole opening in his chest that wasn't healing at all. In fact, the closer he got, the wider it opened. And when he tripped, knees hitting the wood so hard that it jarred his teeth and hands hitting a chest still warm and wet, a void _yawned_ behind his ribcage. He pulled his hands back and a trail of golden grace clung to his skin, making the blood on his palms glow. His brain stuttered.

"Angel?" he croaked, shaking fingers dancing around the angel blade. Was he supposed to pull it out? Was he supposed to leave it in? What was- What was he- "Angel, I don't know what to do. I need you to wake up." He shook Aziraphale, softly at first, and then harder when there was no response. "Angel, wake up!" he shouted, shaking so hard that Aziraphale's body-

The thought cut him so hard and quick that he let go, and the soft _thunk_ of Aziraphale's head was like Crowley'd gotten stabbed in the heart himself. "I'm sorry," he gasped, and it sounded like he was begging, and… he was. He just needed Aziraphale to open his eyes, to prove that this wasn't real. He stroked a hand over the top and down the back of the angel's head, soothing the hurt. "I'm sorry, Aziraphale, I'm sorry. Please, please just wake up and I'll make it up to you. _Please_."

But the blasphemously-black wings on the ground didn't evaporate, the blood and grace on his hands didn't disappear, and Aziraphale didn't- he didn't wake up.

"This… this isn't real," Crowley choked out, fisting those stupid wool lapels. He didn't even realize he was starting to lose control of his human form until the fabric tore under the black points of his claws and he had to forcibly retract them.

"It's not-" A sound clogged his throat, an ugly sound that he'd never made before in his immortal life, and he slapped a hand over his mouth to keep another one of those sounds from escaping. Something wet dripped down his cheeks and he dashed his free hand across it, but more kept coming. Every attempt to clear his eyes just left more wet smeared across his face until all he could smell was- was Aziraphale's blood. His angel's fading grace.

"It's not true." The stupid tears wouldn't stop falling, wouldn't stop dripping down onto linen that had never been less than pristine since its creation, white linen now stained red and tear-lightened to pink. He jammed the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to get it stop. Maybe if he could just get the tears to _stop_, then this entire nightmare would stop. Maybe it would have never-

"It never happened," he told himself, digging his claws into his scalp until blood dripped down his fingers to mingle with his tears. "It never happened," he _Willed_, _demanding_ an _undoing_ of the world. But no amount of demonic power in the universe could bring back an angel from obliteration.

Crowley crumpled over Aziraphale, burying his head in his angel's chest, and _screamed_ his grief for the world to hear.

And only when it was spent, only when the void in his chest had been emptied of his sorrow and refilled with his rage, did he throw his head back and _roar_ until the universe _shook_.

TBC

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**Fear not the Incomplete status, the fic IS actually all written, I'm just posting a chapter a day.**

**Like the thing? Kudo, Comment, and Reblog the thing (themadkatter13fanfiction tumblr, post/187748771953)! Also, don't forget to reblog halcyon's original art (themadkatter13fanfiction tumblr, post/187747070828)! Tschüss!**


	2. Revenga

**AN: Apparently 'revenga' is NOT an alternate form of 'revenge', but the chorus for System of a Down's 'Revenga' fits anyway so here we are regardless.**

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CHAPTER TWO - Revenga

"That useless principality is late," the quartermaster muttered, the stab of his stylus a sharp staccato of irritation on his tablet. Something rumbled through the air, making Heaven shake and making him drop his stylus. Bending to pick it up, he stumbled at the sharp _CRACK_ of energy that sent a blast of electricity and wind through the room. "_Finally_," he said as he straightened, exasperated. "You're _late_-" The quartermaster stopped dead, freezing in horror.

There was a demon in Heaven. A demon in its true form, meters of black scaled coils filling up the space, each of its six black wings tipped with wicked claws. Its serpent's face, eyes blazing with unholy fire, was smeared with blood and grace. In the beast's coils was the body of an angel, still dripping life upon the unholy scales as it disappeared under a pair of wings against the demon's back.

"How did you get in here?" the quartermaster asked, dropping an angel blade into his hand. He didn't dare take his eyes from the threat in front of him, but he could hear the principality Aziraphale's battalion behind him doing the same. "Answer me, demon!"

The beast didn't answer save to breathe out a hiss that filled the air with sulfuric smoke as a wing folded closed. With another acrid exhale, the wing opened again and-

"It's got an angel blade!" he screamed, panic turning his feet. There was a _woosh_ of movement above him, a blast of hellfire-hot air, and after a moment where he didn't die, the quartermaster looked up, and immediately wished he hadn't.

He almost couldn't see through the spray of blood and grace, the hurricane of feathers and scales, but of what he could see? Complete and utter destruction. The demon was moving in an endless flow, cleaving wings and limbs from angels, stolen angel blade producing flashburns of blinding light, tail unerringly keeping even a single one of the host from escaping. Everyone except for him.

The quartermaster bolted for it without another thought, panic and fear lending speed to his escape. He didn't look back until the sounds of decimation had completely faded, and only then did he slow to see. The demon was nowhere in sight when he dared to look, but the other end of the room was drenched in red and gold. It was the stuff of nightmares. It was the stuff of Hell. He'd never seen the like, not even during the last war.

A breath of hot air behind him made him freeze, stark terror making him tremble. Something punched through his back and he looked down, stunned at the silver angel blade sticking through his chest.

"How- did you get- he-" he choked out, and then he _burned_.

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"So Aziraphale is taken care of?"

Uriel nodded, looking pleased, and Michael turned her own smile to Gabriel. "Very much so. He won't be a problem. Ever again."

Gabriel grinned, clapping his hands. "Excellent. Then I will go and verify the location of the anti-Christ child. Our sources say the boy at Megiddo is not who he's supposed to be, and other sources say the four horsemen are in England, heading towards a place called…"

"Tadfield?" Sandalphon offered.

Gabriel snapped his fingers. "Tadfield. That's the one. While I do, you make the troops are ready - we want to meet Hell head-on with all strength."

"Of course," Michael agreed, bowing her head. Even before she raised her eyes, Gabriel was gone. With no time to waste before the war they'd been looking forward to for aeons started, she set off at a brisk walk towards the armoury, Uriel and Sandalphon at her heels. "The quartermaster should have every warrior angel fitted and arm-" Michael turned a corner and stopped dead, her very being suddenly suffused with rage and dread.

"What in Heaven-?"

Carnage. Sheer and utter destruction. The once-white space of Heaven was stained, sprays of blood and pools of grace, dismembered bodies and feathers sheared from wings, as far as the eye could see. As far as the senses could reach. Michael snapped her fingers, the frantic _click click click_ too loud in the deadly silence, but nothing happened - no bodies reassembled, no angels woke. The massacre refused to Undo.

"The demons have already attacked!" Sandalphon screeched, spinning in hapless circles as if the spread of destruction would shrink the more he tried looking at it. "How did they even get in here?!"

Uriel moved past Michael and crouched at a mostly-whole body, ducking closer to its chest. "Michael," she called, and Micahel went, trying to get as close as she could without devastating her clothes. Uriel reached up and dragged her down, her knees hitting the ground and soaking them instantly, red spreading up the cloth. "_Look_," she demanded, pointing at a hole in the angel's chest. A hole that looked suspiciously like the diamond shape of their angel-blades.

"It can't be," Michael muttered, shaking her head. She got to her feet, ignoring how shaky her limbs seemed, and snapped her fingers again, this time to clear away all the spilled blood and grace defiling the room. As soon as she did though, she almost undid it.

Soot wings, as far as she could see. Not every angel, but enough. Too many. Almost every whole body had a stab wound through its chest, had their wings burned out against the white of the ground. It was only then that Michael saw the burned bodies, the angels that had been too close to those that had been murdered by their own kind of blade.

"How?" she whispered. "Who?" She went silent with the tragedy of it before realizing that Gabriel had to be warned. "Uriel-" she started, turning, but there was no one behind her. No Uriel, no Sandalphon. "Hellfire and damnation," she cursed, and then jumped when a pale beige feather drifted in front of her face. She snatched it out of the air, confused, and then another fell, this one dark brown.

With the sudden curse of understanding, of _knowing_, Michael's eyes rose to the ceiling. To the blood- and grace-painted demon crouched there. To its four, claw-tipped wings and each of the angel blades those claws clutched. To the bodies of Uriel and Sandalphon, each hanging, graces burned out, from the blades in their chests.

The beast rumbled in time with its breath, and with each exhale, the rumble got louder and louder and louder until the walls shook with it. Michael screamed a war cry, dropping her own blade into her hand, and leaped for the demon that had destroyed the host. But even with her wings, there was no way to dodge the way it darted forward, maw opened wide to swallow her whole.

TBC

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**Chapter 3 coming to screens near you around this time tomorrow.**

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	3. Deus ex Adam

CHAPTER THREE - Deus ex Adam

No sooner had Death disappeared than two more strangers showed up, one who appeared in the afterburst of lightning striking the ground, and the other who rose up from an unexpected bout of flames on the tarmac.

Adam stared at them, and at the strange silhouettes he could see beneath their skins, like shadows. The one that came from lightning had too many faces and too many wings, all compressed into a grown-up with peculiar purple eyes. The one that came from fire was a giant… well, 'fly' wasn't quite right, too many legs and wings and eyes and strange shapes. He knew, just like he'd Known so many other strange things in the last week, that neither of the grown-ups walking towards him was human, just as he Knew that they wanted nothing good. Pepper and Wensleydale and Brian came to stand beside him, and Anathema and her boyfriend stood just behind. His real friends.

"Adam Young," the many-faced grown-up Adam Knew to be an angel said. "Young man." Adam immediately didn't like him. "Armageddon must… restart."

"The battle muzzzt be dezzzided _now_, boy," the other one cut in with a strange buzzing speech that reminded Adam of the insect-like shadow under their skin. That one was definitely a demon.

"Not if there's no battle, there doesn't," Adam said reasonably.

The angel looked ready to start yelling, and he even opened his mouth like he was about to do just that, when there was a strange sound, like the strike of lighting and the roar of a bonfire all at once. Adam looked between the two beings and, well, much of what had happened to him in the last week had been unexpected in a sort of expected way, but the creature behind the angel and the demon was completely unexpected.

If Adam had to put it into words, the beast looked most like a gigantic black snake with yellow eyes, a red belly, three pairs of black wings, and one pair of white wings, right under the center pair of black wings. The strangely horrible beauty of it reminded Adam of the shadowy outline of too many wings and a giant fly, only the beast wasn't a shadow. It was real and coiled on the tarmac, fire dripping from its mouth as it breathed in a low, endless growl. Dog whimpered and Adam shushed him as he turned to Anathema.

"Is that the beast you were looking for?" he asked.

"I don't think so, honey," Anathema said, looking rather pale. She squeaked and Adam turned to find the snake flying at them, its scales shimmering an odd gold.

"Excuse me," he said, and the snake stopped abruptly under Adam's Will. It roared in fury, but there was something sad about the sound. "Excuse me but, who are you? Why are you here?"

The snake roared out again, this time spitting out a jet of flame towards the angel man and making him jump out of the way, but neither the demon, who looked flabbergasted, nor Adam, who Knew the fire couldn't hurt him, moved. The flame ceased and the great beast strained as if it thought it could break out of Adam's Will, but when it failed, it opened its mouth and _screamed_.

The sound was eerie, other-worldly, and behind him, Adam's friends shouted out in pain, falling to their knees with their hands clapped over their ears. Adam almost stopped it, but it sounded like the snake was crying, so he waited until the sound died away before he spoke again.

"Why are you attacking him?" Adam asked, nodding toward the angel.

"He killed my angel," the snake snapped as if angry, though the words echoed with its unearthly scream. Every meter of the great beast was straining… every bit of it except its white wings, hanging limp from its back and almost dragging on the ground. "Aziraphale wanted nothing to do with their war, with their apocalypse, and they killed him for it. He was better than them, and they _murdered him_!"

By the end, the snake was screaming again, and then flame gushed so suddenly from its mouth, so strong and sharp, that the edges of it caught on the angel's clothes. Who started screaming in turn as he burst into flame. The sound of the angel's pain was so terrible that the fire went out as soon Adam had even thought of it, and the angel screamed into the sudden silence, frantically patting at its clothes and gasping. The creature looked _furious_ to have been denied, and Adam quickly Willed the snake's - or really, it was a bit more like a dragon - fire to not work. So when the snake roared again, nothing came out.

Adam looked at what he knew of angels and demons, and what he Knew of angels and demons. He looked at the angel and demon that had appeared to him first, and then he looked at the snake. He looked at the black wings and the white wings, and he guessed.

"Excuse me, but aren't you a demon?" he asked. "Aren't angels your enemies?"

"I am a demon," the snake demon confirmed, acrid smoke curling out from the corners of its mouth in the absence of its fire. "But he was mine. My angel." One of the beast's pairs of black wings relaxed, draping down over the limp white wings that Adam was now sure belonged to the snake's angel. "And they killed him for it. So I will slaughter them," he said with chilling conviction. "I will slaughter them all."

Adam shook his head, the thought of death, and so much of it, unnerving him. But he Knew what he could do, what he had to do. "I think I understand," he said softly, "and I'm sorry." He hadn't asked to be born as the bringer of the apocalypse, but he couldn't help but feel a little responsible for all that had occurred because of him. Not just the snake and its angel, but everything he Knew his life had caused. "I think I can help."

The angel, who was looking recovered if a bit singed, and the demon, who had apparently been shocked out of their shock, both looked sharply over at him even as they turned towards him, speaking at the same time.

"What the Heaven do you-!"  
"What in Hell are you-"

Adam closed his eyes, and set everything to right.

TBC

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**Fun fact: the next and final chapter is a little longer than chapters 1-3 combined. :3**

**Like the thing? Kudo, Comment, and Reblog the thing (themadkatter13fanfiction tumblr, post/187748771953)! Also, don't forget to reblog halcyon's original art (themadkatter13fanfiction tumblr, post/187747070828)! Tschüss!**


	4. Discomfiting Comfort

***Mario voice* Here we go!**

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CHAPTER FOUR - Discomfiting Comfort

Aziraphale wasn't a fan of sleeping like Crowley was, and the few times he'd tried it across the millennia, he'd always woken up groggy and sleepy, discombobulated for days at a time. But the screaming, the terrible, horrible screaming, startled him straight awake and upright in a flash.

"Crowley, dear, what on earth-" he started and then stopped, confused. "Why are we lying on my floor?"

The heart-wrenching sound Crowley was making cut off sharply as the demon himself whirled around from where he sat on the floor an arms-length away from Aziraphale.

"Angel," Crowley croaked, sounding alarmingly wrecked.

And Aziraphale was very alarmed, not just by the sound of his friend's voice, but by the tears on his face, and the thin smears of blood like scratches around his unusually bare eyes. "Are you alright?" he asked hurriedly, scrambling to his feet. "What happened-?"

A blur of black knocked him flat on his back again, a blur that manifested as Crowley, wings out and eyes wide as he stared down at Aziraphale. The sunlight coming through the stained glass skylight above Crowley was like a halo above his head, setting his lovely red hair aflame, and it was almost enough to distract from the lean line of Crowley's body between Aziraphale's thighs, pinning him to the floor. It was almost enough to distract from how this was the most contact they'd ever had in their long, long lives, and the way it was setting Aziraphale's heart and belly a-flutter and his face aflame. Almost, but not quite.

"Crowley…?" he ventured, unsure in a way he'd never really been before, but then again, Crowley had never been this close to him before.

Crowley leaned in so close that trying to meet his eyes only seemed to make Aziraphale's vision blur. He was so busy trying to bring his friend into focus that he startled at the touch of long-fingered hands cupping his face, holding him the same way he would handle a particularly delicate book. It spoke of great care and affection, and Aziraphale found himself frozen in the face of such reverence. That it was coming from Crowley, who had never shown Aziraphale even a fraction of that sort of affection in the whole of their lives, only served to further his confusion and his involuntary inaction. He opened his mouth to say as much, and found it unexpectedly full of Crowley's tongue.

"Mf!" he exclaimed in surprise, taken completely aback. And it wasn't just because it had been unexpected (though it very much was), and it wasn't just because Aziraphale had never experimented with this particular form of human affection before (though he very much hadn't). No, somehow, the most surprising thing about the kiss, was how saddeningly _desperate_ it was. How it felt like Crowley was trying to crawl _into_ him.

He met the probing muscle with a tentative prod of his own tongue, and Crowley groaned like Aziraphale had hurt him before he slowly pulled away. He didn't go far, just pressed his forehead to Aziraphale's and closed his eyes, and Aziraphale was left with the sensation that he was in freefall. Dazed as he was, it took Aziraphale a moment to realize that Crowley's shoulders were trembling, and he was suddenly not just confused, but at a complete loss.

Aziraphale's hands fluttered in the air near Crowley's ribs as he frantically tried to decide exactly what he should _do_ with them. With Crowley. He'd never had to comfort Crowley before - he'd never really had to deal with _emotions_ from Crowley before. Crowley had been always been solid and sure, mischievous but steadfast, for as long as Aziraphale had known him, and he couldn't even begin to guess what had put his friend in such a state. He wanted to embrace him, comfort him, but he panicked before his hands even made contact with Crowley's waist and he let his arms fall back to the floor.

Soft black feathers drifted over Aziraphale's hands, and softer down brushed the apparently sensitive insides of his wrists, the sensation sending such an unexpected and electric thrill through him that it made Aziraphale inhale raggedly. There was a strange pause in Crowley, who Aziraphale was only now realizing had fallen still at some point, and then he slowly leaned back, taking an unexpected warmth with him. It left the space where his chest had been pressed to Aziraphale's a little cold, but he was still warm where he lay between Aziraphale's thighs, and it was an odd sensation that Aziraphale hesitantly welcomed.

Crowley reached for Aziraphale's face again, and Aziraphale was a little startled to realize his friend's nails were black and pointed, like the claws of Crowley's true form, something Aziraphale had only ever seen as a faint shimmer under the demon's skin from time to time over the millennia. But those claws, as sharp and deadly as they looked, didn't so much as brush Aziraphale's skin, and he was only a little surprised to find that he hadn't even considered that they might hurt him. Instead, he only felt the gentle touch of soft fingertips tracing the bones of his face, and when he looked up, his breath caught at they way hooded yellow eyes watched not him, but the path of Crowley's own fingers.

"Crowley?" he whispered. Crowley's eyes flicked to Aziraphale's for a brief second before they returned to the path of his fingers, trailing down Aziraphale's neck. "Will you tell me what's wrong?"

Hands pressed full to Aziraphale's chest, and then Crowley bent down to press a heart-stopping, lingering kiss to Aziraphale's sternum. When he sat up, his eyes were clear but his expression was shuttered. "You died."

Aziraphale's face went slack. "You- you mean I was discorporated?" he asked hoarsely, hopefully, even though he knew from Crowley's expression that that wasn't what he meant. Sure enough, Crowley shook his head.

"You died, angel," he said, voice as void of emotions as his expression. "You were murdered."

Aziraphale stared. All he could do was stare. And then he shook his head. "No, no that can't be ri-" Fingers at his jaw gently turned his head, and Aziraphale's heart stopped at the sight of soot wings spread out away from his body. A flashburn impression of wings seared into the floor and walls of his shop. "I- I really died?"

The hand on his chest pressed down again, and there was a flash of memory, the darkness of Uriel's skin, a blunt punch to the chest, the agony of his grace burning.

"Yeah, angel," Crowley murmured, the hand on Aziraphale's jaw pushing up into his hair, claws careful against his scalp. "You really did."

More flashes of memory came to him - _soot - blood - grace - grief - **rage**_ \- and it took a discombobulated moment to realize they weren't his own.

"Oh, Crowley. Oh my dear, I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry." Crowley's jaw went tight, and Aziraphale saw that faint shimmer of the demon's true form start to solidify before it faded again. It was… painful to see, but… but he had to know more. He had to know- "But if I- well, then how am I-?"

For the first time, Crowley blinked. "Nnn well… I'm not actually sure. I think it was the anti-Christ."

It was Aziraphale's turn to blink. "You found him?"

"Not on purpose. I was looking for Gabriel," Crowley said matter-of-factly. "Gabriel just happened to be where the anti-Christ was."

"...Why were you looking for Gabriel?" Aziraphale asked confusedly. That was the last thing he had expected Crowley to say.

"He was the last one."

There was concerning finality to the way Crowley said it that set off alarm bells in Aziraphale's head. He was almost afraid to ask but he had to know. "The last one what, Crowley?"

Crowley's eyes caught and held his, and Aziraphale found he couldn't breathe. "The last angel."

Aziraphale swallowed, and his mouth opened and closed several times as he attempted to coral his words. "What happened to the rest of them?" he finally managed to ask.

A peculiar expression crossed Crowley's face, and then his top lip curled back, baring his teeth. "I did."

The simplicity in the statement sent Aziraphale's mind into a tailspin. It was difficult enough to process that his own people had murdered him, just for trying to do the right thing, for trying to keep the earth and all of God's favourite creatures from being destroyed. But that his oldest companion, a demon, had committed genocide against them? He didn't know how to process it, nor was he sure that he wanted to.

"Why?" he finally asked, distress making his voice tight.

Crowley gave him A Look. "Weren't you paying attention, angel?" he asked with a wry smile. This time he slid both hands into Aziraphale's hair, ten fingerpads pressing tight to his temples. "_Listen_!" he hissed.

Crowley's memories flooded through him again, but this time, there was no filter over the emotions, and they _screamed_ through Aziraphale's mind-

_They killed him! They killed Aziraphale! They killed my angel! They killed him THEY KILLED HIM-_

**_T̰͓̯͂͋ͩͦH͎͖̳͓̘͚̒E͐ͪ͒̄̂̔Yͣ́͂ͫͅ ͈͔̭̑̑͛̓́ͅK̺̲ͧ̈́̋ͫͅI̤̾̐̊̈͗L̞͔̩͒ͥͅL͍̞͖̋ͮ͌̍̒͗Ê͉̘̫̩ͭ͆ͩD͕̜͑ͧ ̭͕̥̙̈̐Hͯͤ̃I̟̮̖̋͗M͉͍̼̩͖͚̤̀̈_**

Aziraphale gasped and jerked away, the strength of the grief and the rage saturating Crowley's mind, his memories, and the loss of _love_ driving it all, was far too much to bear.

"You- you never said," he managed faintly, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that _Crowley_, the _demon_ Crowley, _loved_ him. _Him_!

"You were never ready to hear it," Crowley replied, the lack of accusation in his voice a strange relief.

"...But I'm ready now?" Aziraphale ventured, unsure of both the reason why Crowley was showing him now, and his own reception of it. He didn't… he didn't _feel_ ready. It all seemed too much- The depth of what Crowley felt for him, what a _demon_ felt for him, was more intense, more overwhelming, just _more_, than what he'd ever felt from heaven. The mere _concept_ of it was new and, quite frankly, alarming.

"Are you?" Crowley asked back rather than answer.

Aziraphale shook his head, but it didn't feel like an answer, just... a rejection of the question. "I don't know," he finally said, voice uneven. "I'm still an angel and you're still a demon and- and- and you destroyed Heaven!" The words came out a little too desperate, but he couldn't help it, not when it felt like the situation was spinning wildly out of control. Well, even _more_ out of control - any situation where one woke up from apparent death was bound to be out of control from the start.

"They destroyed my Heaven first," Crowley snapped venomously. "I was just returning the favour."

Inappropriately, detachedly, all Aziraphale could think was that Crowley really was a secret romantic after all.

"Besides, if the little anti-Christ boy brought you back to me-"

_Oh._

"-then he probably brought back the host too. Unfortunately." It came out as a vicious sneer, and Crowley suddenly and unexpectedly rocked back on his heels, taking his hands from Aziraphale's face and his heat from between Aziraphale's legs. It left Aziraphale feeling unexpectedly and uncomfortably cold, and he found himself sitting up onto his own knees, chasing after the demon's touch.

"I um… I know you won't agree, but if the anti-Christ did revive the host, I would be most glad of it," Aziraphale confessed, unable to look his friend in the eye. Still, he couldn't miss the way Crowley suddenly couldn't look at him either, or the flash of fury that crossed Crowley's face at his words. Aziraphale ducked his head, feeling something that was embarrassingly close to shame in his throat. "I know they couldn't have _all_ been responsible," he tried to reason, though he wasn't exactly sure why - Heaven had been polite but cold, and Aziraphale had never felt welcome in his own home. Still- "Besides, I don't relish the thought of being the last of my kind."

Crowley heaved an explosive sigh and collapsed from his heels onto his buttocks, crossing his legs and propping his head in his hand and his elbow on his knee. Yellow eyes flicked to Aziraphale and stayed, scanning down his body and back up, making him fidget.

"Are you alright?" Crowley asked suddenly, making Aziraphale jump.

"Am I alright?" he echoed, confused.

"You're the one who died, angel."

Aziraphale swallowed hard and looked down at his hands. "I don't actually really remember it." It wasn't entirely a lie, it was more… the impression of a memory than a memory in itself.

He glanced up in time to see Crowley nod. "Probably for the best."

Aziraphale nodded unnecessarily in agreement. Even that hint of memory lingering at the back of his mind, never mind the _knowledge_ of what had happened, was already too much, a betrayal from those that were supposed to be his family. 'Never trust a demon,' they'd always said. But a demon was the only person Aziraphale _had_ been able to trust, even if he'd never dared to admit it to himself.

There was a pause and then Crowley spoke again. "I'm sorry, by the way."

"Oh, it wasn't your fault," Aziraphale shrugged, though he felt certain that he'd be able to find forgiveness for his oldest friend even if it _had_ somehow been his fault. "If you had been here, they would have just killed you too." And oh, if that thought didn't send his heart into a state in a way the thought of his own death didn't.

"Not that- well, yeah, that too," Crowley waved his free hand. "But I meant about the kiss. I shouldn't have kissed you. I just… You were alive again. I… lost control."

"Oh!" Azirpahale exclaimed in surprise. And then blushed when he remembered the warmth of Crowley's mouth against his, the touch of his tongue. The desperation that now made a great deal more sense. "Oh, no i-i-it was um, it was uhh fine."

Crowley blinked, and then he grinned, the slow spread of his smile mischievous in a way that made Aziraphale's heart flutter curiously. "In that case, I'm sorry it wasn't good."

"That wasn't considered 'good'?" Aziraphale asked before he could stop himself.

Yellow eyes lidded, and something about the gaze sharpened with an intensity that Aziraphale wasn't prepared for. When Crowley spoke, his voice was a smoky drawl that made Aziraphale shift in place. "If you're ever ready, it would be my pleasure to kiss you properly."

Heat rushed through Aziraphale, all-consuming and achingly familiar, making him fidget uncomfortably. It wasn't the first time he'd been treated to such a charged look from Crowley throughout the years, but their occurrences were so rare that Aziraphale never had the chance to build up any kind of immunity to such intensity. It was somehow made both better and worse by the new-found knowledge that it wasn't anything so simple as lust that drove those looks, but a love that Aziraphale had always been told demons weren't capable of experiencing.

But Crowley was capable. And from the faint but distinctive apple-of-Eden taste to the memories, he had been capable since the beginning. Since the moment they met.

The knowledge gave Aziraphale courage. Not a lot, but... enough.

"I think I would like to know what a proper kiss is like." His words came out in a vaguely unintelligible rush, but he saw in Crowley's slow blink that he had been understood regardless.

"Would you?"

It was a test and a request for confirmation all at once, and Aziraphale forced himself to seriously consider the question. At least, he tried, but suddenly all he could think about was the desperate press of a demon's mouth.

"Yes," he whispered, managing to meet Crowley's eyes, if only for a second. "Please."

Crowley didn't move or speak for a long moment, and then he reached out with both hands, curling claw-tipped fingers around the meat of Aziraphale's thighs. Aziraphale sucked in a nervous breath as he was pulled across the scant distance that separated them, and he found himself fisting the fabric of his trousers over his knees. Knees which were pressed to Crowley's shins, and Aziraphale stared down at the point of contact. Another first, but then again, everything about today was new.

Gentle fingers cupped his cheeks, warm breath fanned across his face, and his chin was lifted to what he could only assume was the ideal angle. Aziraphale closed his eyes and prepared himself for another desperate attack, but he was only met with the soft press of lips to his. Somehow, that chaste touch was all the more shocking and he gasped his surprised, half expecting to feel the press of Crowley's tongue to his own. But Crowley did no such thing, simply opened his mouth in time with Aziraphale and then persuaded it closed again.

A sound crawled up Aziraphale's throat, and he pressed forward into the warmth of the hands against his face and the lips against his. Crowley pulled back just enough to shush him before taking Aziraphale's mouth again, but still he did not invade Aziraphale with his tongue. And yet, Aziraphale could feel the ghost of it, whispering against the seam of their lips, the very edges of his teeth, touching without touching and driving Aziraphale just a little crazy. It left his skin curiously heated under his clothes, every muscle tense with… something. Something that felt like anticipation, although he couldn't have said what exactly he was anticipating.

Crowley pulled away slowly, slowly enough that it left Aziraphale chasing after the taste of his lips, but Crowley didn't reengage, simply rested his forehead against Aziraphale's. It was a separation without separating, and it left Aziraphale feeling a strange sort of… hunger. Which didn't seem like the right word because he had experienced the desire for food before and this was nothing like it. He wondered if Crowley felt the same, or if the real reason why he'd never kissed Aziraphale before was because the pull he felt was purely emotional.

"Of course I do."

Aziraphale blinked, feeling oddly dazed as he pulled back. "Hm?"

"Of course I feel the same." Claws scraped over his skull around the back of his head, fingers gently fisting in his hair. "I'd ravish you if given half the chance, angel. I'm _starving_ for you."

Even though he didn't need to breathe, Aziraphale suddenly found that he couldn't.

"You- you would? I-I-I mean, y-you are?"

Crowley leaned back in close, and there was a heartstopping moment where Aziraphale thought he was going to get kissed again, but Crowley moved past his mouth, past his cheek, to his ear. Soft lips brushed the sensitive skin of his lobe with every breath, the hot wash of every exhale making Aziraphale tremble. "I would have bent you over the Eastern Gate."

Aziraphale didn't know if it was the words themselves or the low rumble they were voiced in, the same low tone that sent a strange thrill down Aziraphale's spine into his belly, but it was suddenly all too much. He scrambled to his feet and away from Crowley, backing away until he could steady himself on the nearest bookshelf. Even then, with his hip pressed to a shelf and his hand pressed to the spines of books half as old as he was, he'd never felt so unsteady.

"Th-that-that's quite enough of that," Aziraphale stammered, holding out his free hand as if he needed to keep Crowley away. His face felt as hot as hellfire and he wondered for a moment if he was still burning.

Crowley chuckled as he followed suit, uncoiling and getting to his feet like the snake he used to be. He shrugged from the shoulderblades and his wings folded away, back under the guise of his human body. "Don't worry, angel. I'll never do anything you don't ask me for."

He shook his head harshly. "I don't believe I'll ever ask for that," he denied, but Crowley just smiled at him and caught his upheld hand, bending down to press a kiss to Aziraphale's palm. The sensation lingered even when Crowley released him, and Aziraphale had to stop himself from rubbing at the memoryof the softness of his lips, the gentleness of his gesture.

Aziraphale hastily dropped his eyes, unable to take any more of that hooded yellow stare, and his eyes fell on the flashburn imprint his wings had left when he'd-

Feeling his stomach turned, he snapped at the same time Crowley did, their magics obliterating the stain and returning the wood and rugs to their pristine conditions. When he looked back up, it was to find Crowley's face distorted in barely contained rage.

"You won't attack Heaven again, will you?" he asked quietly.

The emotion wiped from Crowley's face so quickly that Aziraphale knew it wasn't actually gone, just hiding. "If they stay away from you, I'll stay away from them."

All he could do was swallow against the feeling stuck in his throat and nod. Crowley watched him for a long moment, long enough to make Aziraphale shift in place, and then nodded and started towards the door.

Unexpectedly, something lurched then tightened painfully in Aziraphale chest, and the memory of what had happened the last time he was alone in his shop hit him like an angel blade to the chest. He jerked forward and almost beat Crowley to the door. "Why don't we get something to eat?" he asked hurriedly.

Crowley fixed him with a steady look, and Aziraphale wondered if the demon could see into his heart. A hand raised, slowly, so that he could see it coming, and he watched it warily. But all Crowley did was sweep it down his back, leaving it in the dip at the base of his spine. The touch reignited the odd heat in his belly, but at the same time, it left him comforted with the knowledge that Crowley was _here_, that Crowley was with him, that he would sense other angels approaching in ways Aziraphale couldn't.

"Anything you need, angel," Crowley said, his voice serious. "All you have to do is ask."

Aziraphale managed to hold his eyes for a moment longer, and then he nodded. "Perhaps you'd like to come back for tea after?" He hoped he didn't sound too desperate, but something had happened in his shop, in his home, and he had the dreadful feeling that it would be a long time before the building would be able to provide him the comfort it had for the last several centuries.

"Like I said, angel," Crowley said, taking a slow, daring step forward to press a kiss to Aziraphale's temple, a kiss Aziraphale was surprised to find gave him the same sense of comfort his bookshop used to, a warmth that sunk past his human bones into his soul, into his grace. He tilted a tentative smile up at Crowley, and braved eye contact for just a moment, and Crowley graced him with an unexpectedly soft smile. "Anything you need."

FIN

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**How does Zalgo text sound for you text-to-voice readers I wonder?**

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